#grim's scribbles

[monpalace]

leona kingscholar/reader. gender-neutral reader. ~700 words. there's one (1) line of dialogue in this entire thing.

there's a sleeping lion between your legs the second your hands touch his mane.

leona's head bobs and sways every time you comb your hands through the tangled locks and you're not sure if it's because he's actually asleep or because he's chasing your touch.

(you know full and well it's the latter.)

ruggie pops in and out of the room periodically to pull out leona's uniform and ensure he hasn't dragged you back into the bed. he's snickering and you can tell he's considering doing something for blackmail, but he's quick to talk himself out of it and leave with a wave.

leona's hair is softer than the first time you touched it. it's easier to comb through and braid since that time octavinelle tried to swindle ramshackle, weaving through your fingers like delicately grown grass with the occasional hiccup.

he takes better care of his hair nowadays, even if he does force you to do most (if not all) the work. better wording would be he's more willing to care for it, but you've been told of the effort he puts into a routine when you're not available.

(even if he denies it and says ruggie's a liar, you'd have to be blind to not see the amount of product littering his bathroom.)

admittedly, you were most thankful when he started braiding and tying his hair up at night. you remember how he'd squeeze your thigh or bite his hand whenever you'd try to untangle and style it after getting him up.

leona's tail swats your foot when you accidentally rake a hand over his ear, his teeth lightly scraping against the knee he laid his head on. a silent warning that you're quick to acknowledge by rubbing around the ear before smoothing the hair again.

your fingers glide through his hair as you braid it. he's compliant when it comes to not leaning into the way you pull and stroke to make sure no strand is too loose, a quiet, rumbling noise leaving him whenever you do.

when tapping and gentle shakes don't work, you have to stop touching him entirely for him to barely wake. his chin is sharp on your thigh when he finally turns his head, eyes trying hard as they might to glare at you through his tiredness.

a hand combing through the hair that frames his face gets him to turn until he can angle his head up at you properly. he lays his head down once you start planning where to start the first braid and all you're able to focus on is the way the waves of his hair have become defined coils.

they bounce back every time you pull a strand into the braid and you can confidently say it's the most fun you've had doing anyone's hair.

you have to press the braid between his lips to keep it from unraveling. his nose sniffs because he can feel a few stray strands tickle it, but he doesn't spit it out when you do gymnastics to reach the closest hair tie.

(there were at least thirteen scattered somewhere between the sheets. you think some of them snapped during the day and finally fell when he collapsed in bed, though there was also the possibility he just tugged them off when he settled down for the day.)

(that'd explain why all of them had strands of hair impossibly wound around them.)

muscle memory kicks in when you tap his head onto the other leg and start the second braid. taking the other tie and wrapping it around it, you wonder if he'll drag you back into bed or get dressed enough to drag you to one of his favorite spots.

while the thought of escaping to get yourself ready for the day is tempting, you know he'll only hold tight at refuse to let you go.

you're not sure why you didn't expect him to wrap an arm around each thigh, holding you in place after an unfortunate twitch. his eyes open as wide as they can like some sort of threat and the only answer you give him is a peck on the forehead.

"we have to get going," you hum, thumb rubbing against the apple of his cheek. his grip tightens and you're on the floor before you know it.

he's holding your head against his chest like he's protecting you from the dust on the ground and all you're thinking about is how you have to go through the entire process a third time.

[acetrappolad]

nice to meet you, dilah spade!

[ggrimboy]

STOP PUTTING THIS OCTOPUS IN SITUATIONS

reblogs > likes

[odds-and-bookends]

(Cloudcalling Book 3 Ch.3)

wHY WERE THEY SO MEAN...

fins wondering why hes cursed to hang out with all these rich jerks while he doesnt even have a bank acct....or parents....or a social security number....sigh

[santiivans]

taking a break from stuff to scribble

AU where grim reapers Sua and Till randomly pick a file on the next soul they collect. Till gets Mizi (“oh? a pretty girl!”) and Sua gets Ivan (“hm. young.”) But when they go to check on/‘haunt’ them (shadow of death etc.) they find out the locations on the files got switched due to some bureaucratic error at the grim reaper office.

Sua finds Mizi in what's supposed to be Ivan's location, vice versa for Till. Shenanigans occur, then devastation as the angels of death feel themselves get drawn to these two, beautiful people who are not meant to last.

[blade0fgrass]

this is my second time redrawing this meme. you can probably look forward to it again next year

[grimalkinmessor]

reimob, fluff, and feathers 🩷🩷

WING FIC TIME!!!!!! (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Reimob/Fluff/Feathers

———

"Sit still, Mob."

Shigeo stilled in his squirming, chastised but not embarrassed—not anymore. The way his wings fluttered around his shishou's fingers had once made him red in the face, mortified by the obvious pleasure he took from Reigen's fingers sifting through his feathers.

Now, they'd both been at this too long to feel ashamed about it.

Reigen huffed when Shigeo's wings shivered again, stopping his preening to swat Shigeo upside the head. "Still, I said! You keep jostling everything back out of place."

He sat behind Shigeo on the back of the couch, shoes off so his socked feet could rest on the seat cushion, bracketing Shigeo's hips. Reigen's deft hands carded through inky feathers and plucked and straightened and smoothed down anything out of place, occasionally dropping a few feathers in the small pile on the arm of the couch. Shigeo was getting big enough that soon the couch wouldn't be a good place for this, the tips of his primaries brushing against the edges of the seat even without being fully extended.

He wondered if Reigen would stop preening him, then. He hoped he wouldn't.

Reigen had been preening him for years at this point—ever since he was twelve, his newly grown feathers replacing old baby fuzz and making him so uncomfortable he couldn't keep it hidden. His parents preened him, of course; it was typically a family activity, shining up someone's wings before they left the house. Like helping a child brush their hair until they could do it themselves, and even then still sometimes after, just to keep close. To bond.

But by the time Shigeo had first stepped timidly into Reigen's office, his parents had all but ceased to preen his wings. His mother'd had to take double shifts at work to cover Ritsu's hospital bills, while his father had been playing diplomat to the angry parents of the other, older boys Shigeo had cracked against the pavement. Neither of them had time to do more than a few cursory cards over Shigeo's wings before ushering him out the door to school.

And Ritsu...

Ritsu had been another matter entirely.

Almost a year had passed like that, until the fullness of Shigeo's wings and they're subsequent twitchiness had caught his shishou's attention. When Reigen had offered, Shigeo hadn't had the will nor the want to say no.

Reigen's hands always felt like heaven in his feathers, quick but not painful, firm but not rough, gentle but not ticklish. He shines up the back of Shigeo's wings with an exactness that no one else could match.

"Shishou is too good with his hands," Shigeo said in faux-complaint, eyes closing.

A beat, blink-and-you'll-miss-it pause. Then Reigen was humming in amusement, seemingly unphased by the comment. "Get one of your little school friends to help you, then."

Shigeo frowned, almost a pout. "...My friends are too bad with their hands."

Reigen barked out a laugh, his hands resuming their work once more. "What's that supposed to mean, huh? Kids are supposed to be bad at this, you know. Practicing on each other is how you learn."

"I'm not saying they have to be great at it," Shigeo grumbled, slitting his eyes open to peer at the floor. "But I don't really want to be their test dummy either."

"It's good experience, Mob," Reigen dismissed, scraping his fingers down the seam of Shigeo's wing where it met the skin of his back, sending shivers racing up his spine. His wings gave another flutter, and Reigen huffed. "Still."

Shigeo obeyed, forcibly quieting his overexcited wings and bringing that old conversation to an end. Anything to keep Reigen's hands on him.

He closed his eyes again. "I like it when you do it."

Reigen didn't pause this time, but he also didn't respond to Shigeo's admission either.

Shigeo felt a bit miffed. Not wanting to let Reigen worm his way out of it, he asked, "Do you like it, Reigen-shishou?"

"...Yes," Reigen said after a moment. "I like preening you, Mob."

Head tipping back, Shigeo said, "I meant when I preen you, Shishou. Do you like it when I preen you?"

Reigen stared at him, eyes widened—deer in the headlights.

His own wings were tucked against his back, closed, as they usually were in public, the ends of them hooked down behind the back of the couch where Shigeo couldn't see. He knew that Reigen wasn't ashamed of his wings—they were beautiful, a lovely shade of tawny that almost looked gold in the right light—but Reigen also had very little people in his life that he was close to. Reigen was used to hiding his wings away because, for a long time, he'd had no one to help him preen them, so they always looked a bit messy, no matter how much he tried to do it himself.

Shigeo had asked to reciprocate after their first encounter with Claw, when Reigen had instinctively flashed open his wings to shield them both.

"When things go South, it's okay to run away!"

Moonlight haloed behind him, his expression open and earnest, his wings spread open and curled around them...

That had been the first time that he'd ever thought, 'Oh. Shishou is beautiful.'

The first, but certainly not the last. He was beautiful now, caught off-guard and striped with evening sun coming in from the blinds. He might even be remembering the first time that Shigeo had preened him, after that very same encounter. Sat in the office, Hanazawa gone home, Ritsu asleep on the couch as Reigen called their parents to let them know where they were, coming up with another another another lie to keep them from worrying. Shigeo had seen how out of sorts he'd been, his wings twitching, and had remembered how ruffled his feathers had looked. And, feeling grateful and guilty all at once, Shigeo had asked to preen him.

Reigen had frozen, hemmed and hawed and hesitated, but he'd ultimately given in, dragging Shigeo's desk chair around so he could sit on it backwards, allowing a smaller Mob to put inexperienced fingers to his wings. Straightening, plucking, brushing; feeling Reigen reluctantly shiver and croon beneath his touch and not yet knowing what the warm, hot feeling in his gut meant.

"Yes, Mob," Reigen said now, forcibly nonchalant. "I appreciate you helping me with it. Now, for the last time, be still would you?"

Shigeo obeyed, though he wasn't quite yet appeased. He let Reigen finish him up, then turned, wings still flared, and pushed up into Reigen's space. His gaze was focused, bright.

Insistent.

"Your turn, Shishou."

"Alright—alright, you pushy brat, give me a second to get situated!" Reigen barked, shoving at Shigeo's face in annoyance when his black wings crowded around him, hemming him in and herding him down.

Huffing, Reigen slid down onto the couch itself and sat crisscross, while Shigeo settled into Reigen's place on the back of the couch. He wasn't quite as tall as Reigen, not yet, but that just gave him a better vantage point to see what needed to be fixed. Shigeo buried his fingers in his shishou's pretty feathers, taking time to brush them through slowly. And, like always, Reigen relaxed instantly at his touch, his wings falling open wider, flexing.

A few feathers were loose, pulled out from between the others in Shigeo's hands, but unlike Reigen, he didn't pile them up to be disposed of later. Shigeo set every feather carefully beside him in a line a little disappointed that there weren't more. He supposed being a fully matured adult meant your wings shed less.

Reigen's wings weren't technically bigger than Shigeo's, not in height at least, but they were thicker. Longer. Sturdy, strong—capable of getting him places and getting him there fast.

Shigeo's wings resembled cormorants; fishing birds. Water birds. Built for diving, strength, weathering storms... Not for speed.

If Reigen ever decided to fly off without him, Shigeo wasn't sure he could catch him.

But he hadn't.

Many birds were sedentary. Many birds mated for life.

Shigeo hoped that, in that, he and Reigen were the same.

When he was finished, Reigen's wings gleamed like fools gold, straight and sleek. Shigeo felt pleased with himself, even more so when Reigen visibly had to wake himself up, lulled into a sleepy sort of contentment by Shigeo's ministrations. As he moved about the office, his wings fluttered and fluffed ever so slightly, as they always did when he was freshly preened and immensely pleased about it.

Hiding his smile by ducking his head, Shigeo tucked the few stray feathers he'd collected into his pocket. Then, as Reigen began to corral them both out the door for dinner, Shigeo slipped one of his own sleek primaries onto Reigen's desk. Center fold, unmistakable.

Reigen would find it in the morning. Shigeo hoped that he would tuck it away with the others Reigen pretended he didn't save in his desk drawer.

Then, when the time came, Shigeo hoped he'd wear them, as Shigeo wanted to wear his.

A symbol to the world that they belonged to each other.

[imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper]

Please tell me why as obsessed with them as I am this is the only thing I've managed to draw for ineffable bureaucracy 😂😅😭🫡🔥🔥🔥

[shadowdecidueye]

[potionofinstantdamage]

your own personal jesus

[monpalace]

what are the wolf thoughts. sharing is caring.

the thoughts were this,,,, and dilf twi,,,,, combined,,,, so tbh i dont think i really need to say anything for legal reasons 😁 so instead have my very incoherent thoughts on semi-feral (furry)! protective (territorial)! twi‼️

content warning/s.. this is me rambling. written with afab/fem reader in mind (BUT i think i kept it vague, so its more of a gn reader), possessiveness/territorial nonsense, not written with linked universe in mind, y'all remember the citrus scale? i do. (ending dips into lime territory)

i like to imagine that link kept some of his more inhumane traits after the events of twilight princess were all said and done. whether it be a parting gift from the twilight, or a side effect that came along with being a wolf, link never did enough investigating to find out what stayed, what left, or why.

his nose was better, so he could catch whenever a crop was bound to rot or flourish, so good for his stomach.

his eyes were better, so he could catch whenever the kids were making a fuss about something, so good for his mental well-being.

his ears were better, so he could hear whenever his herd were riling themselves up from the other side of the village, so good for his pockets.

all-in-all, he didn't really care to get rid of the side effects if they were going to be such a benefit to his work life— and even better for his personal and love life.

alongside rotting crops and his own post-work stench (yes, he is very self-ware, kudos to midna), link can smell a change you. whether it be a change in your emotions (pheromones were a tricky thing) or wherever you had wandered off after a particularly bad disagreement between the two of you— as rare as that was.

(he's been more ill-tempered as of late. seldom to you, more often to the adult villagers. always over something stupid like to little on an order of food and winter clothes not being thick enough.)

(something, something, the wolf has yet to fully leave him behaviorally, he guesses.)

it was a particularly bad spell between the two of you. link doesn't even remember what it was about and he wasn't keen on doing so. it was late and all he wanted was to apologize so you would return home, he could take being kicked to the couch if it meant you were in the vicinity.

his nose leads him to a darker part of the forest. the trees felt like they moved everytime you turned your back to them, working with the monsters to further trap you inside the woods.

bulbins always had a nasty smell; especially when it muddled and ruined yours.

it's a blur to link, really. it was like he was black out drunk, except rather than alcohol, something else ran through his veins.

there's the catching of your scent, the sprint to the forest, the blackout, and then there's you.

(you. you. you. youyouyouyouyouyouyouyouperfectyouwonderfulyouthereasonhestillbreathesyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyou—)

you're staring up at him with those big doe eyes of yours when he feels some semblance of himself again. he feels less like an animal and more like a person when he sees the way you're sitting against the tree, trembling, but not from fear.

he wipes away the stray bulbin blood as he checks you over for injuries, biting back gags of disgust and the urge to clean you then and there (mark. bite. claim. mark, bite, claim. matematematematemate—).

the way he feels is visceral when he sees your bruising skin, scrapes, and gashes.

it's suffocating when he pulls you into his arms, his tight grip making it hard to take a comfortable exhale. his face is buried against the side of your neck, a spot he's been more and more keen on paying attention to since he's returned home from his adventure.

his breathing grows heavy as he finally drops from his squat to kneel before you, hands traveling wherever they can reach after they pull you into his lap. they're heavy and would be overwhelming if you weren't used to the behavior.

his teeth make an appearance just as his hands make a dive beneath your clothes. he nips and nibbles the expanse of your skin while his hands squeeze whatever handfuls of flesh he's able to reach, the warmth and give of it working to further ground him.

(you were here, with him. alive. you loved him. you wouldn't be letting him handle you like this if you didn't love him. all he wanted was you. his spouse. his better half. the flame to his melting candle. the furnace that kept his home warm.)

(his mate.)

"link," you call when his nips turns into full on biting-and-sucking while his squeeze evolve into gropes and— goddesses, your voice is so angelic when you speak, he stops everything to stare up at you. the blues of his eyes barely visible with the way his pupils expand.

"i want to go home."

and home is where he takes you, hands gripping your thighs as he locks your legs around his hips and carries you home, lips pressing kisses to that spot on your neck that he can't get enough of, canines occasionally reintroducing themselves when he starts to feel greedy again.

[acetrappolad]

today i offer you, a wip

[ggrimboy]

i want (to be) you

[decentai]

Grim at Grandfest

I didn’t give Grim a grandfest outfit so he gets to have a comic. Fisher and Leo will have their turn at a grandfest comic.

When I made this, it was just to mess around with the idea of ex soldiers seeing their boss again. Then it turned into me wanting to see a different side of Grim. He’s chaotic and a little selfish, but to certain people he does a complete 180. He respects DJ Octavio despite doing his own thing when he served under him. There’s only a few people he would ever apologize to and Octavio is one.

Also bonus doodle :)

[rufinator]

Christmas Gift for an absolutely amazing close friend of mine @shchebet

HUNK BOI

[blade0fgrass]

some itgr shitposts bc honestly do i ever draw anything else